


Autograph

by missdibley



Series: Time & Place [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Chicago, F/M, Fluff, RPF, actor!tom, alternating pov, eventual snogging, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flora’s rainy evening in Chicago is off to an interesting start when she ends up seated next to an incognito Tom Hiddleston at a screening of one of his movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As the lights went down, plunging the room into near darkness, I grabbed my coat from the floor to put in the empty seat next to mine. But just as I was about to do so, I heard somebody slipping into it. With a quiet groan, he settled in and leaned back in his seat to see the screen better. Cursing my new neighbor, I shoved my coat back into its spot and leaned back to enjoy the movie. The new neighbor smelled good, I gave him that, but I was a bit surly about being squeezed between him and the girl on my left. _Just watch the movie and focus on Tom’s sweet ass,_ I told myself. _You can “relax” when you get home._ "

“Hey Flora…” My friend Steve Porter looked at the list of names he held in his hand. “There you are.” He crossed mine off with a few scratches of his pen, then handed me a ticket. “Sorry I couldn’t get you a better seat. I don’t get my own advance screenings anymore, so anybody I can get into the ones run by radio or tv stations will invariably end up with shitty seats.”

I shook my head. “Steve, no worries. Just glad I could be here. I’ve been dying to see this movie ever since I saw it announced. And then the trailer…”

Steve grimaced. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those fangirls…”

I laughed, then patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t scream every time he comes on screen. Or I will, but I’ll try to muffle myself. Is that alright?”

Steve chuckled. “Scream all you want, just don’t record it okay? Security will be there checking for that.”

“Of course.” I looked at my ticket, then back up at Steve. I grinned. “Thanks again.” I nodded at him and started walking to concessions to get a snack. I turned and, walking slowly backwards, called out to Steve. He looked at me with a curious smile.

“And I’m not a fangirl, okay?” I smirked. “I am a fanwoman.”

My friend Steve was the Chicago film critic for AintThatTheStuff.com, an awesome pop culture and show biz site that catered to nerds and geeks of all stripes. Every once in awhile, he could get friends into advance screenings of movies that weren’t due to come out for weeks or even months. I was one of those friends, and because of this I found myself at the ShowPlace Icon theater on Roosevelt Road on a rainy weekday night.

The movie in question was a Gothic horror romance sort of thing starring my number one crush, Tom Hiddleston. I’d already bought a ticket to see it opening day, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see it early (and brag about it to my friends on Twitter). Steve had already mentioned that this would not be a special screening with a Q&A. And even if it had been, Chicago wasn’t big enough that we could get one of the stars to show up. Certainly not Tom.

Which was fine with me. Being chubby, middle aged, and not exactly buxom, I was certain not to be Tom’s type. So I didn’t fantasize that we might actually meet in person. I just wanted to watch him do his thing, which was give an extraordinary performance while looking impossibly hot, then take myself home to fantasize then masturbate before falling asleep in my own bed.

But just because I was chubby and middle aged didn’t mean I couldn’t put at least a little effort into my outfit. Honestly, the worse the weather, the more clothes I would have to wear, and therefore the better I looked. I wore a short dark blue and black plaid skirt that ended mid-thigh, and a snug navy blue sweater. Because my thighs touched so much that sometimes the friction will produce sparks, and because of the cold damp weather, I wore opaque black tights. I had finally broken in my new ankle boots, so I was about three inches taller than my usual 5’6”. I looked like a past her prime Goth schoolgirl which was exactly the idea.

What do past their prime Goth schoolgirls snack on at the movies? Red Vines, mini peanut butter cups, and a large Coke with minimal ice. At least, that’s what I got. I stashed the candy in my purse, and stuck a straw in my cup before walking into the auditorium. It was full of people chatting and getting settled, folding jackets under seats and checking their phones one last time before we had to put them away. I saw a lot of Loki t-shirts, most of which appeared to be custom or homemade and were therefore awesome.

My seat ended up being front row and center, so I’d have to crane my neck, looking straight up at the screen, if I wanted to see anything. It helped that the seat leaned back, but it was not enough to be truly comfortable. Because I was so close, I could wave at Steve when he bounded up to introduce the film.

“Okay, guys, if you like this movie, don’t forget to tweet about it, facebook about, put it on your Tumblr…” Steve grinned when a huge shout came from the crowd. “So we’re Tumblr fans, then? Or is that Tomblr?” He reared back and laughed when we cheered. “Whichever social media platform you happen to use, please share your thoughts with the appropriate hashtags, of course. But not during the movie. And definitely don’t take pictures or video or sound of the movie tonight. You are, however, free to take as many pictures of me as you’d like.” He pretended to pout when the audience laughed, then waved at us. “Enjoy the film!”

Before he took off, I caught Steve’s eye and motioned to the empty seat next to me. It was the only one left. He shook his head and mouthed “Find me after, okay?” When I nodded, he gave me a thumbs up and left. As the lights went down, plunging the room into near darkness, I grabbed my coat from the floor to put in the empty seat next to mine. But just as I was about to do so, I heard somebody slipping into it. With a quiet groan, he settled in and leaned back in his seat to see the screen better. Cursing my new neighbor, I shoved my coat back into its spot and leaned back to enjoy the movie. The new neighbor smelled good, I gave him that, but I was a bit surly about being squeezed between him and the girl on my left. _Just watch the movie and focus on Tom’s sweet ass,_ I told myself. _You can “relax” when you get home._

I forgot about the candy in my pockets, just taking slow sips of my Coke as I got lost in the film. It was beautiful and mysterious and then it was grotesque and frightening and I may have watched more than a few scenes from behind my hands, fingers parted slightly. When I whimpered during a particularly violent sequence, the neighbor reached out for my hand and squeezed it. It felt so good that I didn’t question it. I was just grateful. His hand was large and warm, and even after the scene was over it remained gently cupped over mine. I got used to the feeling of the his thumb idly running over my knuckles. It soothed me.

Until the end, where the film climaxed in an orgy of violence. I cried out, and the stranger sat up so he could take me in his arms. I felt so dumb, because it was just a movie, but I was grateful to have his chest to press my face into. When I could hear the scene come to an end, I looked up to thank him.

I looked up right into Tom Hiddleston’s face.

My lips parted, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to scream in shock or laugh at my dumb luck. Before I could make the sort of noise that would sound something like “Oh my god I’ve been watching a Tom Hiddleston movie while practically lying in the dark next to Tom Hiddleston and ohmygodwhatthefuckbbq is going on?!”, he held a finger up to his lips and shook his head.

I just closed my eyes and enjoyed being held like this. One arm around my shoulders, the other resting just so between us so he could hold my hand. I opened my eyes and stared into his, which were wide with concern. Our breathing had synced, and I felt calm. I wasn’t afraid. I pretended to zip my lips shut.

Tom ran his finger down my cheek. “Better?” he mouthed. When I nodded, he smiled reassuringly. “I have to…”

I smiled. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Goodbye.”

He winked, then nuzzled my cheek. I giggled when he pressed a quick kiss to my jaw, and smiled at him as he snuck out before the credits began to roll. When the lights came up in the theater, I was blushing. But then, so were a lot of people in the theater. I looked around, wondering if anyone had seen or suspected. But nobody paid attention to me. So it was just my secret, a secret that made me feel pleasantly warm all over.

Out in the lobby, I caught up with Steve, who was tapping and swiping at his phone. He put it in his pocket and waved.

“Good?”

“Yeah, it was great!” I enthused. “It was a lot of fun.”

“Not too scary?”

“Nah, just enough. And whatever I thought I couldn’t stand, I just watched from behind my hands!”

“Great. Thanks for coming out! You headed home?”

I nodded. “I think so, yeah. It’s not too late but I was thinking…”

“Actually… can you stick around for a minute?” Steve looked closely at my face.

“Um, sure. Did you need a ride home? I actually drove tonight.” I showed him the car key I’d just taken out of my coat pocket.

A light came up in his green eyes, which now sparkled behind wire rimmed glasses. “You drove? That’s good to know.”

“Why’s that?”

“Um, a friend is in from out of town, and we were looking to get a drink.”

“Oh, I could totally drop you off. Just let me know where.”

“That would be awesome, thanks. You’ll join us, won’t you? We won’t keep you out too late.”

“I don’t want to impose…”

“Flora, I don’t know anyone who eats at more cool places and drinks at more cool bars than you do.”

“Please. That’s just my Instagram feed making my life look so much more exciting than it is.”

“Nice try, Flora. I know you’ve already got some places in mind.”

“Okay fine. And yes, I may already have some options. I hope your friend likes tater tots!” I looked down at my shoes, smiling to myself, then back up and around the theater. “Not to rush your friend, but what’s keeping… him?”

“Yeah, he’s just hiding out for a bit longer. Waiting for the crowds to get lighter.”

“Why would he need to wait for that?”

Steve smiled slyly at me. “Well…” He looked over my shoulder and nodded. “Here he is.”

Before I could follow his gaze, I felt someone appear at my side. I turned and looked up… into Tom’s eyes again.

“Hi,” he murmured. “I’m Tom.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds himself curious about and possibly attracted to Flora. He is not the only one who feels this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the props to my beta'ing boo, [lifeisgrand](http://archiveofourown.org/users/andlifeisgrand).
> 
> I'm also alternating POV by chapter. Chapter 1 was Flora. Chapter is Tom, and so on. Maybe Steve will be a POV chapter but I'm thinking not.

“Tom, this is my friend Flora. Flora, this is Tom Hiddleston!” Steve turned from Flora to look at me with a satisfied grin. “She’s a fan, of course.”

There was a look of slight panic in Flora’s dark brown eyes. “Yeah… um, but not, like a fangirl. No no no.” She shook her head.

“Right. Like you said earlier, you’re a fanwoman!” Steve elbowed me.

“I… I just really love movies,” Flora stammered.

“Of course, but this guy’s in particular, right?”

I looked at Steve, tried to will him to stop embarrassing her (though she did look awfully pretty when she blushed), but I couldn’t get his attention.

Flora fiddled with the car key in her hand. “Yeah, well… Steve said you guys wanted to get a drink? Is that still true?”

I nodded, just as my stomach began to rumble. “And food, please. I couldn’t eat on the plane.”

Flora nodded. “I think I’ve got just the place.”

* * *

Steve and I stood in the car park, a few feet away from Flora who was cleaning out the back seat of her car (“Sorry, just let me get this pool noodle… and this racquet… why do I have a bag of dog toys? Whatever. I’ll just be a minute.”). I was about to help when Steve pulled me back.

“Hey.” Steve looked serious. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I know you’ve got an early start tomorrow with your interviews.”

“Not a problem, man. It’s nice to see you again.”

Steve and I had gotten acquainted at Comic-Con earlier this year. I don’t usually get friendly with critics on a personal level, but I found him to be grounded and genuinely friendly. When we ended up in the hotel bar together one night, first bonding over the sad state of our love lives and then drinking quite a bit of scotch, I felt like I’d made a new friend. Someone who got to know me, not “Tom Hiddleston”.

And now my new friend was in need of a wingman. Namely, me.

“So, remember the girl I was telling you about in San Diego? The crush?” He nodded at Flora. “It’s her.”

“Oh!” I bit my lip. “Are you sure about this? I’m not certain I could be such a good wingman.”

“Why not?” Steve shook his head. “She likes you, and she knows we’re friends so…”

“Well, she knows that now. She seemed a bit surprised to see me.”

“And nervous! Wasn’t she adorable? So cute. Anyway… ”

As Steve continued to explain his plan to ensnare Flora, my gaze drifted over to her, still working on emptying the back seat. She had thrown her coat and bag in the boot before she began to clean. The door was open, and all I could see of her was the one leg she kept out as she knelt inside the car with the other.

 _How much shit does she have back there?_  I wondered, and then my mind went blank as her hips and her ass wiggled with the effort of tidying. Who knows what else what she had to dispose of or arrange, but her movements were… something.  _But Steve likes her so I should probably stop ogling her bum,_  I thought.  _Right. Back to Steve’s plan._

“So yeah, I was thinking you could talk me up. She’ll listen to you, I know. And once she sees how awesome I am, she’ll drop you off and then she and I…”

“Steve, that sounds a bit dodgy. Why not just, you know, have an actual conversation with her? Get to know her that way?”

“Oh I’ve already tried that but it never goes anywhere.”

 _Dear God._  “So what makes you think it will work this time?”

“You’re here! My good luck charm! Just, you know, work your magic, help a brother out!” Steve pleaded.

“Erm… I’ll see what I can do.” I tried to sound as sincere as possible.

I saw Flora push herself out of the back seat, her bum going up just a little  _(nice)_  as she eased herself into a standing position. She dusted herself off then waved at us.

“Hey guys!” She smiled at us as we approached. “Sorry about the wait, but we should be good to go.”

Steve sped-walk to the car, opening the passenger door and taking the seat next to hers. Flora shook her head as I began to curl myself up in the back seat.

“Are you sure… your long legs and all.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“Just tell me it’s not a long ride at least.”

Flora nodded. “No, not at all. In fact, we could probably even walk—”

“Hey guys!” Steve yelled from inside the car. “Are we going or are we going?”

* * *

The U-shaped leather booth at The Skylark was the perfect spot for a cold, rainy night. Steve sat on one side of Flora and I the other, the three of us plucking…

“They’re tater tots, sorry.” Flora shook her head. “I don’t know how you could look at these little nuggets of fried potato magic and think ‘Sure, potato croquettes. That’s what I’ll call them.’”

I popped one in my mouth. “The tater part, I get. But tots?” I mock shivered. “It sounds like we’re eating children, like we’re practicing cannibalism.”

“But we’re not eating our tots. We’re eating theirs. The children of the potatoes’”. When Flora arched her brow, I had to laugh.

“Alright,” I relented. “But can we at least agree that, whatever we call them, they are delicious?”

“Sure.”

I was glad to see Flora relax a bit once we got to the bar. Something about the dim lights, Curtis Mayfield singing on the jukebox, and the hum of patrons talking over the ringing sound of the till. At least, that’s how it made me feel. Comfortable. At home.

She didn’t drink, though Steve tried to impress her by offering to order her several obscure cocktails (“Steve, I’m driving, remember?” “Oh. Riiiiiiiiight.”). Instead she ordered a Coke for herself from the surly waitress, while Steve and I opted for beer.

When we raised our glasses to toast, Steve cried “Heineken! Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon” before smacking his mug against Flora’s soda.

She shook her head. “You still do that? But I thought you hated  _Blue Velvet_?”

“Oh I do, but that character, man. Frank Booth. So cool.”

“Right,” Flora said carefully. “A psychotic murderer and rapist with a rusty oxygen tank. That is _super_  appealing.”

I laughed, snorting into my pint while Steve pouted.

Flora picked up two tots that had been fried together and considered it carefully. “Oh look, the rarest of the rare, a twin tater tot.”

“It’s just two tots that got stuck together in the fryer.” Steve drained his beer, then grabbed the tot out of her hand and tossed it in his mouth. “Gotta take a leak. I’ll get the next round.”

I waited until Steve was safely behind the swinging door of the gents’ until I spoke.

“Erm…”

Flora looked at me apologetically. “I’m not sure exactly how well you and Steve know each other, but he isn’t usually like that.”

“We met in San Diego this year, had a few drinks and a nice chat. He was pretty cool then.”

“And he is. Ordinarily.” Flora shook her head. “But tonight…” She turned to look at me. “Maybe he’s sick?”

“Or maybe he’s nervous?” I ventured.

“Why would he be nervous? I mean, if anybody has reason to be nervous it would be…” Her eyes got very big as she stopped herself.

“Flora, I have to confess something.” I took a deep breath. “Steve likes you.”

“Likes me?” She bit her lip. “Wait, you mean like,  _likes me_  likes me?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “He fancies you. He told me in San Diego that he had a crush on somebody. Then when I got to Chicago tonight, he indicated that it was you.”

“Oh dear.” Flora shut her eyes. “Oh no no no no no no no no. That won’t do.” She opened her eyes and faced me. “He really said that?”

“Yes, that is what he told me. And then he asked me to be his wingman.”

“What?!” Flora tugged on the lapel of my jacket, then released it abruptly. “Sorry, I’m just a little shocked.”

“Why would you be shocked?”

“It’s just… Steve’s my friend. He’s only ever been my friend in a, well, friend sort of way. I never got the impression that he thought of me like that.”

“According to him, he tried before to chat you up before, but you weren’t receptive.”

“Probably because I was totally oblivious.” Flora smiled ruefully. “I just don’t see it. I don’t see Steve as a boyfriend. He’s my friend. My buddy. Not boyfriend material. Not for me.”

“Are you sure?”

Flora nodded, then started to wind the paper sleeve from her drinking straw around her index finger. “Yeah. I think… not to be picky. He’s nice enough, cute enough, I guess. He even meets my criteria, now that I do think about it, but… I don’t feel it. Not from him.”

“What are the criteria?”

Flora peered up at me. “Why do you want to know?”

I sat back and all of a sudden I felt myself get warm. “Erm, as his wingman, as Steve’s friend, I think that would be fair to reevaluate him. I mean, you don’t have to. You have every right. But,” I shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” She blushed, then pushed her hair behind her ears.

“Flora, are you okay?”

“I think so. This is just turning out to be a strange night.”

I looked up, scanning the room for the waitress. “Would you like something stronger to drink?”

“No.” She looked at her hands, which she had clasped in front of her on the table.

“It’s not a lot of things. It used to be more, but as I got older… I wouldn’t say I’ve come to expect less from romantic entanglements. I think it’s more like I’ve established what I need, what the absolute must-haves are.”

“Which are…” I prompted.

Flora sat up and smiled. “He has to make me laugh. Smart, or at least curious. Kind. That’s the most important one, I think. And… I can look after myself, but it would be nice to have someone be on my side. A little team of two.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“I think so too. I think it’s possible. To find all of those qualities in a single person, or most of them anyway. Enough that it doesn’t feel like a compromise.”

I picked a tater tot out of the basket and held it up in front of us. It was another double, two tots fused together. I pulled it apart, handing one half to Flora. I waited for her to drag it through her saucer of ketchup, then we ate them at the same time.

“Do you… or is there anyone else that meets your criteria, then? Another gentleman?”

“Yeah,” Flora whispered. “I would say so, yes.”

I turned to look at her. When I smiled at her, she smiled back. “Do you think, perhaps, you would like to tell him?”

“I think I’d would like to… but I’m a little scared. I don’t usually take risks like that.”

“Well, Flora, if it were me, if I were the gentleman…” I picked up the straw wrapper she had discarded and began to wind it around my thumb, squinting at it. “If I were the gentleman, I would say the odds were likely that he would like to know. And he would be glad about it.”

“Would he?”

I took the wrapper off my thumb, then reached for Flora’s hand so I could drop it, now coiled tight into a ring, into her palm. I gently closed her fingers over it.

“He would, Flora.”

“Hey, uh, guys?”

Startled, I jerked away at the sound of Steve’s voice. I released Flora’s hand from my grasp, and she pulled it into her lap. She still held onto the paper ring. There Steve stood, carrying three glasses in his hands. Behind him was our waitress, looking expectant.

“Can somebody spot me $20? I ran out of cash.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still at The Skylark, Flora prepares herself to be wooed by her friend Steve while Tom looks on with some amusement (and then some horror).

Steve stood there, drinks in hand, with the waitress right behind him looking a little pissed off. I tucked the paper ring, the one that Tom had made and given to me, into my pocket.

“Yeah, just let me get my purse,” I said, reaching for my bag.

“No, Flora. I’ll take care of it,” Tom shook his head as he withdrew his wallet from his jeans pocket. “That was $20, yes?” He smiled as he handed over $25.  _Nice,_  I thought. “Cheers.”

“Thanks, Tom!” Steve set the glasses in front of us before taking his seat next to me with a thump. “Now what were you two talking about?”

“I… what? I should… I need to visit the ladies room. Tom, could you…?”

He moved to let me out, taking the opportunity to stand up, stretch and unfold himself after sitting for a few hours. As he did, Tom revealed the smallest expanse of stomach as his sweater rode up. I took a step back but he still caught me looking. I couldn’t help smiling, especially when he laughed softly as our eyes met.

“Um… I’ll be right back.”

Spinning on my heel, I walked calmly into the ladies room. I peed, washed my hands, splashed cool water on my face. I took a good look at myself in the mirror.

Apart from my hair looking frizzier than usual because of the rain, I didn’t think I looked special or different. So why was Tom Hiddleston at a bar with me? Why was this happening to me? And why couldn’t I just be a good fangirl and drool on him, jump in his lap, take a gazillion selfies and post them all over Tumblr?”

Maybe I would do these things if this were a photo line, or a premiere, or some other time when he was on job. When he was being “Tom Hiddleston” and I was in fangirl mode. But not when he was here as Steve’s buddy Tom, and I was just Steve’s friend Flora who gave them a ride to the bar.

Tom was Steve’s wingman, for fucks sake. The wingman who confessed that Steve had a crush on me. The dude who split tater tots with me, talked to me about what I’m looking for in a man, and then gave me a ring made out of a straw wrapper. He flirted with me.

Worst wingman ever.

I shook my head and reapplied some gloss, making a little moue with my lips as I did.

“He’s Tom. That’s who he is.”

I took a breath.

“Tom Hiddleston is what he is. It’s his job. And right now, he’s off the clock. Just a guy relaxing after a long day with a basket of tots and a few beers. Just a guy who likes to flirt for fun, right? That’s it.”

I almost had myself convinced but then my heart started racing when I got back to the booth. The booth where Tom sat looking at me, a tentative smile on his face, as Steve talked right into his ear.

“Flo!” Steve patted the spot next to him. “Take my seat! I warmed it up for you.”

“Flo?” I sat down carefully, putting my purse down between us.

“Yeah, Flo!” Steve frowned at me. “Short for Flora?”

“Nobody calls me that.” I took the Coke Steve had brought back for me and took a sip, not bothering with a straw this time.

“Really?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up as a look of surprise crossed his face. “Why not?”

“I just never cared for it. And besides, I never thought Flora was long enough to shorten into a nickname.”

I looked up to find Tom looking at his beer as he traced the rim of his glass with his index finger. His eyes, which flitted up to meet mine, were sparkling. Glad to know somebody thought this was funny.

“But it’s cute!” Steve looked pleased. “You’re cute!” He elbowed Tom. “Isn’t she?”

As much as I wanted to hear the answer, I also wanted to just die on the spot. Never mind that we had been flirting before, sitting close and splitting tater tots with each other. I just couldn’t. Not with Steve there.

“Yes,” Tom nodded. He raised his chin to look at me properly, then raised his glass in salute.

“You are, Flora.”

* * *

As the evening wore on, I stuck with my Cokes and Tom with his lagers. Steve, however, decided to move onto shots of Jack, getting drunk pretty quickly. It was easy to set aside the flirtation, and the nervousness it inspired in me, as Steve, for better or worse, took over the conversation.

“Y’know, Flo… we rilly shoulda taken Tom to… to… what’s that place in Wicker? Near the hipster tacos on Damen?” Steve was slurring his words, but still sat upright in his seat.

“Do you mean [The Violet Hour](http://theviolethour.com/)?”

“Yesh! I mean, this play-sh, Skylark. Man! If yer into diiiiiiiives. But if you want a proper cocktail, Violet. Or [Losht Lake](http://www.lostlaketiki.com/)! Paul McGee’s new place. With the ticky, tiki, tiki wiki fruity drinks.”

“Well, Steve, you should have said something, if you wanted to go to Lost Lake.”

“Naw, it’s cool. Ish cool. I can manage. But if yer a purist, like me… cocktails are art. Why drink anything else?”

“Says the guy drunk on PBR and shots of Jack,” I muttered to myself.

Tom snorted into his pint glass as he laughed. He set his glass down, then cleared his throat. “Steve, can we get you some water, give your liver a rest?”

“And another thing,” Steve continued, squinting at me. “Yer so pretty. Exotic. We should go exotic somewhere. Tiki bar, or maybe Chinatown.”

 _Oh Jesus._  “Steve, what are you talking about?”

“Y’know… with yer pretty eyes. You look like a hula lady.” He clapped his hand down on my thigh and squeezed it. “But yer not small, not like other Asian girls.”

“Steve.” I took a deep breath as I felt my face get warm, then pried his hand off my leg and put it on the table. “Enough.”

“BUT I LIKE YOU.” He reached for me again and I shook my head, taking him by the wrist and putting his hand back.

“Steve, you are drunk,” I insisted.

“Steve. Mate. She said enough.” Tom’s jaw was clenched. He looked annoyed. “Let’s get you some water.” He moved in closer, ready to intervene if Steve reached for me again.

“I AM NOT!”

And then Steve threw up on the table.

* * *

The waitress refused offers from me and Tom to help clean up. She pointed at Steve: “Just get him the fuck out of here. Please.”

So we did. The bouncer held the door open as Tom and I walked Steve outside. The rain had stopped but the streets were still wet. Cars made that lovely sound that they do as they zipped past us. It was just past midnight.

I tried tugging Steve towards the car when Tom stopped me.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the car. I’ll drive him home, and then I’ll take you to your hotel before I take myself home for a bath and a hot toddy.”

Tom looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure about that, taking Steve? I don’t think he should get in your car.”

“Is my driving that shitty, Tom?” I grinned at him.

“No. But you probably don’t want him puking in your car. He’s still pretty drunk, I reckon.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “Got it. Make it some other schmuck’s problem, then?”

“Well, erm…” Tom shrugged. “Yeah!”

“Some friend you are!” I laughed at Tom as he looked a bit sheepish. “Do you mind checking Steve’s pockets, look for his ID or something with an address? And grab his phone so we can call him a cab. I’d rather not pat him down, if it’s all the same to you.” I peered up at Steve, who was leaning heavily on my shoulder while he had an arm slung around Tom’s neck.

“Sure.” Tom patted Steve’s chest, retrieving a nylon wallet and an iPhone from inside his jacket. He handed it to me, and I squinted at it in the light as I looked for his ID.

“Here’s hoping his address is current, at least.” I looked at the phone in Tom’s hand.

“Phone’s dead.”

“Here…” I took my phone out of my purse and handed it to Tom. “Use mine.”

Tom took it and swiped at it. “Passcode?”

FUCK.

“Um… 9-2-8-1.” I closed my eyes and prayed I didn’t turn completely red before dying of embarrassment.

“What a coincidence,” Tom murmured as he typed the numbers. “That’s my birthday.”

“Really?” My voice cracked as I tried to sound casual.

There was the hint of a smile on Tom’s lips, but he didn’t take his eyes off my phone. “So what number should I…?”

“No number, just launch the Uber app. It should be there on the first screen. I’ll read out Steve’s address, just tell me when you’re ready.”

Five minutes later, a clean-cut looking kid named Han pulled up in a Prius. He looked askance at us when we explained about Steve’s sorry state.

“Just tell me this,” he said as we laid Steve down in the back seat. “Has he already puked?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Once, and it was a lot. He probably won’t do it again. But should we come with you? Help him when you arrive at his place?”

Han looked at the address displayed on his phone. “Nah. This looks like one of those doorman buildings in the Gold Coast. I’ll manage.”

“Thanks so much,” I gushed. I fumbled for my purse, opening it to take out my wallet. “Here, let me give you something for your trouble.”

Han shook his head. “We’re not allowed to take tips. But I may drive a bit slower than usual, just to be safe.”

“Of course,” I replied. “Take as much time as you need. And thanks again, Han.”

“You got it. Good night.” Han looked at me, then at Tom. He tilted his head. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere, in something? You look awfully familiar.”

Tom scratched the back of his ear and squinted. “You know, I get that a lot. But no, man. Never been here before”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing, as Tom spoke not in his smooth English voice but with the slight nasal twang of Owen Wilson.

“Right, right.” Han rolled up his window and pulled a U-turn, heading north on Halsted with Steve lying on his back seat. I’m not sure why, but I waved as they drove off, then turned to find Tom looking after them too.

“He’ll be okay, right? Steve, I mean.”

“Yeah, I think so. Hopefully he won’t remember anything he said. Or did.” I touched my thigh before tugging my skirt down.

“Are you alright?”

I looked up to find Tom looking at my leg with concern.

“Oh, you mean my leg?” I examined my thigh again, poking it with my finger. “It’s fine. He didn’t grab me hard enough to leave a bruise. At least, I don’t think so.”

“But aren’t you mad?”

I sighed. “Right now? I’m just relieved that Steve’s gone, and he’s no longer hanging onto me, breathing in my face.”

Tom laughed. “But that’s now. What about…”

“Tomorrow? I’ll probably be mad about it then. I mean, he was drunk but… that’s no excuse. To grab me like that. If he remembers, I hope he apologizes. But if he doesn’t? I’m not going to throw it in his face. But then… I’m not exactly going to rush to hang out with him again, either.”

“Well, I’m still pissed. What a mess he was.”

“Yeah. You thought he was cool.” I shook my head. “Let that be a lesson to you, sir. Never go drinking with sad sack film critics who need wingmen!”

Tom chuckled. “Right. But what about the other thing?”

I looked up at Tom, confused. “What other thing?”

“The thing he said, about you being, erm, exotic.” He ran his hand through his hair, then brought it to rest on the back of his neck. His brow was wrinkled as he thought. “The whole Asian… thing.”

“Oh, that?” I shook my head. “I get that all the time.”

“Really?” He looked horrified, and for that I was grateful.

“Yeah. Not from Steve but there have been others. Other guys who hit on me, flirt with me…” I couldn’t resist smirking at him. “I think they think it’s supposed to make me feel special, like they noticed this thing that was already totally obvious. It’s annoying because to them it becomes the only thing.” I shrugged. “I’m just used to it by now.”

“I don’t think I could get used to that.”

“Be grateful for that. I mean it. But then,” I ventured, looking into his eyes, “You’ve got problems too, right?”

“What do you suppose they would be?” Tom’s voice sounded tentative, tense even.

I gave him what I hoped was my most reassuring smile. “If I had to guess, I would suppose it’s the balance. Between being yourself, Tom, and being Tom Hiddleston.” I made the air quotation gesture with my hands when I said his name in full. “Being a normal dude who eats tater tots with strange girls in bars as well as the smooth gentleman who makes the fangirls swoon when he conducts interviews about Shakespeare in flawless French. With occasional, charming lapses into fanboy Tom when you’re sitting with people you admire, or you get started talking about Shakespeare, of course.”

He blushed, then began to stammer. “I’m very fortunate…”

“I know you are. But… you’re off the clock now, right? You’re just Tom, the dude in the bar with the tots…”

“And you’re just Flora,” Tom said, nodding. “The normal girl who is not at all exotic but is very cute and likes to wear short skirts.”

“Oh my god…” I bit my lip, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“Well, you are, and you do,” he said thoughtfully. “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”

I shook my head no. “No. Just forward enough. It’s just… I think maybe that’s a little of Tom Hiddleston’s charm I just heard coming from Tom the dude.”

Tom looked pleased. The cheek… “So can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” I said, still grinning despite myself.

Tom held up my phone and waved it at me. “Your passcode? That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

I swiped at his arm, trying to get it back. He chuckled, holding it tantalizingly out of reach as I kept jumping for it. “I’m sorry… I am so sure… damn, you’re tall!” I stopped leaping around. “Sorry, but a lady has to have her secrets.”

“Oh? Was there a lady about?” Tom mused, looking over my shoulder.

“HA HA.” I rolled my eyes as Tom handed over my phone.

“Buy you breakfast?”

“You’re still hungry?”

“Yes,” he said as he nudged me towards the car. “Being Tom Hiddleston, making fangirls swoon and the whole bit? You work up an appetite.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Flora's rainy night in Chicago continues with "dinner" and dancing.

Flora stood on the kerb, waiting for me to stow my bag in the boot of her car. In her hand she carried a white paper bag containing our late night repast — two croissants stuffed with eggs, streaky bacon and American cheese ( _shudder_ ).

We had gotten the food from [her favourite diner](http://www.melrosedinerchicago.com/) (“They’re not the best, but they’re not the worst, and they’re very fast.”), picking it up on our way to this spot just in front of the [Uptown Theatre](http://www.uptowntheatre.com/index.html). She drove while I used her phone to call the restaurant to place the order (“What’s the passcode on your phone again?” “Oh, so you’re funny now?”).

Swaying to the beat of a song only she could hear, Flora peered into a shop called [Shake Rattle & Read](http://www.yelp.com/biz/shake-rattle-and-read-book-box-chicago). When I joined her, she handed over one of the sandwiches. Flora unwrapped hers and took a bite, chewing slowly as she examined the books and records in the shop window.

I took the paper off my sandwich, bit into it and closed my eyes as I chewed. I hummed with contentment. It was delicious.

“Good?” Flora was smiling at me when I opened my eyes. She handed me a napkin.

“Incredible,” I murmured. “Who knew American cheese…”

“Right? It melts so beautifully for something that comes from a package marked ‘cheese food’”. She returned her gaze to the window.

“So it’s Ah-men-eh-sare?” I said carefully.

“Still with the questions?” Flora shook her head. “I thought we got those out of the way in the car. Should I quiz you now?”

“Well, as you’ve disposed of the only person I know in Chicago…”

“We sent Steve home in an Uber driven by a college kid named Han! You make it sound like we killed him and dumped the body in Lake Michigan!” She laughed.

“As I was saying, the only person I know in Chicago. And now I am at your mercy. For all I know you could be an axe murderer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Should I get you a cab so you can make your escape?”

“Please. What about my bag then?” I said, nodding at her car.

“The price of your freedom, Tom.”

We finished our sandwiches, Flora collecting the wrappers to throw them in a nearby bin.

“Yes, to answer your question. It’s Amenecer.” Flora rolled the R, making her name sound musical.

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

“So where did Flora come from then?”

She leaned against the store window, and began to fiddle with the strap of her handbag. “My mother’s name is Dalia. She and my father wanted to name all their kids after their favorite flowers and plants, but my mother likes roses while Daddy favors lilies.”

“How did you end up with just Flora then?”

“Just Flora?” She laughed, and I felt my cheeks get warm. “No, it’s okay. Flora was their compromise. Then it would have been Lila, Rosa, Jacinta, Narcisa, Delfinia, and so on.”

“Did they want children or a garden?”

“Both. Our house was filled with plants when I was a child. But there was only ever me.”

“No sisters or brothers?”

“Nope. It just… they couldn’t have any more. They tried for a few years. Back in the Philippines, one of the girls who worked in my grandmother’s house had a baby on her own. Mom and Dad nearly took the baby in, but the girl decided to go back to her village and raise it with her parents’ help.”

“Did you want siblings?”

Flora looked off to the side, biting her lip as she thought about her answer. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, but it escaped a moment later. “Not all the time, honestly. I really liked having my parents to myself. But it was weird because they treated me, even when I was very young, as a little adult.”

I smiled. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I guess, but I always felt weird wanting to do kid stuff. Like run around the yard instead of playing with my many educational toys. Or go to Disneyworld. I’d beg to go to Disney like all the kids in school and they’d say ‘Well, Flora, we could do that. Or we could go see your sick grandma in Manila. Whatever. It’s up to you.”

“Really?” I whistled.

“Yeah, their guilt trip game is strong. But I didn’t get spanked. Not like my cousins in the Philippines.” Flora nodded. “They never even tried to scare me with that. They actually made me write them letters explaining what I had done wrong instead.”

“Really?!” I sputtered.

“Oh yeah,” Flora said, nodding. “It was good preparation for when the time came to write essays for my applications to college.”

We laughed.

“Are you close to your parents now?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. We talk on the phone a lot. And I have dinner with them every Sunday.”

“Is it a big meal at home with lots of leftovers?”

“Yes to leftovers, but no to home. We always go to a Chinese restaurant. Actually,” Flora turned her head to nod at a storefront across the street, “[that’s our place](http://silverseafoodchicago.com/).” She looked back at me. “Do you see your parents often?”

“I try. Whenever I’m home. Even if it’s just for a few days. I try to see my mum at least.”

“You have sisters, right?”

I nodded. “Two, one older and one younger.”

“Are you guys close?”

“Yes, and that’s something I’m proud of, considering how much I’m away. They’re wonderful women, and I’m lucky to have them.”

When I took my hands out of my pockets to flex my fingers,  Flora caught them in hers. She examined them carefully under the light of the marquee above us.

“Your hands are so cold.” She looked up at me. “Sorry about that.” Taking a closer look, she gasped.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind the co—”

“Whoa, what’s this?” Flora interrupted. She tapped the index finger on my right hand. “I can’t believe it.” She looked up at me in astonishment. “You’re a smoker, aren’t you?”

A heat crept up the back of my neck, and I felt my face get warm. “Well, I did smoke for I Saw The Light, to help keep my weight down. Hank was a smoker, after all.”

“Yeah, he was,” Flora drawled. “But you’re still smoking, aren’t you?”

I chuckled. “What gave me away? I haven’t had one tonight so I know it can’t be the smell of smoke on me.”

Flora leaned into me and sniffed, just an inch from my chest. “No, you smell fine. Good, in fact.” She blushed, then stood up straighter. “It wasn’t that.” She held the index and middle fingers of my hand up. “There. You have the tiniest freckles, one on the middle and two on the index. These are the fingers you use to hold a cigarette when you smoke, aren’t they?”

“What makes you think it’s from smoking? It could be from, dunno, a lot of pointing in sunlight?”

Flora rolled her eyes. “My best friend and I, we smoked in college. That’s actually how we met, when I asked her for a light at a frat party. Like you, she is a redhead. Beautiful pale skin, and freckles everywhere except on her hands. She didn’t notice that she got freckles on her smoking fingers until her father saw them. He thought it was hilarious.”

“Good job, Detective Amenecer. Now, your turn.”

I smirked as I raised one of her hands to examine it. It was small and soft, the palm a very pale pink. Her nails were short but immaculate, and painted a dark blue. I ran my thumb over her knuckles, and she shivered.

“Flora?”

“Yes?” She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling in the light.

“You and your friends, do you hold hands?”

Flora nodded. “My closest friends, yes. All the time.”

I enclosed her hand in mine. She took a deep breath.

“But never quite like this.”

* * *

[The Green Mill](http://greenmilljazz.com/), a jazz bar located a few doors from the theatre, was our next stop. It was just past 1:00am when we went in, where a few musicians were setting up on a stage. I walked slowly after Flora, stopping to take in the murals and the long bar, behind which there was a single bartender serving a handful of customers.

“It’s a late night jam,” the waitress explained as she seated us in a booth. “They do it a few nights a week. It’s whoever is in town, locals and touring musicians.”

“How long are they playing tonight?” Flora asked.

“Until we close at 4:00am, the usual.”

“We’re not staying that long, are we?”

Flora who shook her head. “One set, and I promise I will take you home.” Her face flushed, but she grinned. “I mean, I will take myself to my home, and then I take you to your hotel.” She laughed and clapped her hand over her forehead. “No! I take you to your hotel, and then I go home. To my home. Yes.”

Feeling my cheeks get warm again, I sat up straight and cleared my throat.

“Very well then.” I returned my attention to the waitress. “What do you recommend?”

“Old fashioneds or gin martinis, anything classic really. [The Mill](http://www.chibarproject.com/Reviews/GreenMill/GreenMill.htm) was a speakeasy during Prohibition and, as you can see, we like to keep a sorta 30’s vibe in here.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “They’re pretty strong though, so if you’re driving you might just want a Schlitz.”

“Flora, what would you like?” I turned back to find Flora looking content.

“Two Schlitzes, and two shots of bourbon. Nicest you have.” She nodded at me. “That okay?”

“That sounds great,” I replied.

The waitress nodded. “Got it. Back with your drinks.”

“How are you?” I asked Flora.

“I just had a breakfast sandwich with my new friend Tom, and now we’re going to drink Schlitz and listen to jazz.” She sighed, then reached out to run a finger along my jaw to my chin. “I’m perfect.”

“I’m feeling pretty good, too.”

“It must have been the sandwich,” she said, grinning.

“I think you’re right.” I sat back in my seat and looked around the room again. “Do you have an early day tomorrow?”

Flora shook her head. “No. The museum where I work stays open late one night a week, and that’s tomorrow. I don’t have to head in until noon, and I’ll be working until 8:00.”

“Evening hours at an art museum? That sounds like fun.”

“It always is. The evening crowd is always a hoot, especially if they’ve — what?” Flora sat up as a wide smile crossed her face. “Kurt!”

I looked at the stage, where a gentleman with a square jaw and a warm smile was taking the stage. He shook the hands of the musicians who looked ready to play.

“Ah, Kurt’s here. We’ve missed him.” The waitress came back with our drinks, which she set down on cocktail napkins. “I don’t care if he lives in New York now, he’ll always be a Chicago boy to me.”

“Kurt…?”

Flora turned to me, her eyes bright. “[Kurt Elling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXprs8-U5nA). He’s incredible. Whenever he plays here, tickets usually sell out quickly.” She looked up at the waitress. “I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, not until he came in.” The waitress shrugged. “I think he had an overnight layover, decided to spend it with us instead of the Hilton at O’Hare.”

“Lucky me,” sighed Flora. She picked up a beer, then pushed the other pint at me. “What are we drinking to?”

I looked at her face, at the way her nose scrunched up now that her smile was very wide. “To Chicago, Flora. Let’s toast to this lovely city.”

“To Chicago, and to London. To home.”

The music started up, softly at first as Kurt introduced himself and the other players on the stage. He smiled, waving at friends who came up to the stage to say hello before finding places to sit. I wasn’t familiar with the music, so it helped that he sang a few standards. Flora would tug on my sleeve excitedly, whispering song titles in my ear. We were warm and cozy, with our beer and our bourbon and the music.

“Hey, do you mind?” I looked up to find a gentleman, of medium height and build, sharply dressed in a three-piece suit. His hair was slicked back into an impressive pompadour. He smiled at Flora. “Would your girlfriend care to dance?”

“Oh, but there isn’t…” Flora faltered as she looked out at the empty floor. “And I’m not…”

“So let us be the first. If you’re amenable, of course.” The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.

“Um…” She looked back at me, and I flushed.

“I mean… don’t let me stop you…” I stammered. I tried to think of something else to say, but I couldn’t.

“Great! Let’s go!” The man smiled as Flora took his arm and followed him to the dance floor.

“Ah! I see we have two brave souls!” Kurt clapped at Flora and the man, then made a small bow. “I think this calls for something fun. Fellas?”

He counted off, and they started to play a song that I didn’t recognize. Not at first, anyway. It was from a movie, I knew that much, something I must have watched when I was a child. For some reason the image of the actor Danny Kaye popped into my head, and I realized that the movie had been [_White Christmas_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fwuzeze0nw), and the song was, as Kurt sang…

> _[The best things happen while you're dancing  
>  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKqT6g0o9i4) _ _Things that you would not do at home come nat'rally on the floor  
>  _ _For dancing soon becomes romancing  
>  _ _When you hold a girl in your arms that you've never held before  
>  _ _Even guys with two left feet  
>  _ _Come out all right if the girl is sweet  
>  _ _If by chance their cheeks should meet  
>  _ _While dancing  
>  _ _Proving that the best things happen while you dance_

The stranger wasn’t shy about pulling Flora into him, a move he would employ right after twirling her. And he twirled her a lot. Maybe too much.

Flora followed his lead gracefully, letting him steer her with just the subtle press of his hand on the small of her back. There was an instrumental section, and it was then that he held her close, whispering in her ear as they swayed. She shook her head, smiling to herself, then squealing with surprise when he dipped her at the end of the song.

“Flora, a pleasure.” The man bowed to us as she took her seat. “Thank you, sir, for sparing your date.”

“Sure.” I muttered, prompting Flora to look at me closely. Her brow was furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. She simply smiled again as she turned back to him.

“Thank you, Dash. You’re a good dancer.”

“I’m only as good as the girl in my arms.” He withdrew a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table. “As I said, if ever you’re in Milwaukee…”

“I will certainly look you up. I promise.” Flora relaxed her shoulders when he left, and we were alone again.

“That looked fun.” I fiddled with a napkin, folding it into halves until I couldn’t anymore, and it would open up so I could start over again.

“It was, yes.”

Flora took a sip of water from the small glass the waitress had brought with our beers and shots.

“You like to dance, right, Tom?”

“I do.” As soon as I heard how terse my reply sounded, I felt a tightness in my stomach.

“Tom.”

I looked up at Flora, who was peering at me, her eyes big and curious.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure. Just a little tired. I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” I snapped, then shook my head, regretting my tone. “Sorry. Like I said. I’m tired.”

“Alright. I heard you.”

Flora looked away from me. I heard her inhale sharply, then exhale slowly. I thought I saw her shoulders shake a little as she breathed.

Before I could say something, Flora stood up, saying “I’m gonna go visit the ladies. When I come back, we should leave. It’s getting late.” She crossed the dance floor and disappeared through a small door in the corner.

Flora wasn’t gone long, but I spent the whole time she was away staring at the door. Wishing that she would return. Wishing that she would look at me. Wishing she would smile at me, showing that she forgave me, understood how I felt.

But how did I feel?

When she emerged, standing at the corner of the dance floor and watching Kurt and the band continue to play, I saw that only two of my wishes were granted. Flora looked at the stage and then at the floor, but not at me. Her head was bowed, and as her hair was shielding her profile as it fell to her shoulders, I could not see her face.

Before I knew it, I eased myself out of the booth and walked to her. Standing at her side, I held my right hand in front of her. Flora took it, followed me to the center of the dance floor, but she wouldn’t look at me. Even as we stood facing each other.

The next song began, and I waited for her to place her left hand on my shoulder. It helped that her high-heeled boots made her taller, as it made it easier for me to slip a hand to the small of her back. We hardly moved, just swayed gently as there was still a few inches between us.

“Flora…” I whispered.

Though she shook her head, still refusing to look at me, she stepped in to close the space between us. I could feel her sigh as she pressed her head to my shoulder. I lightly nuzzled the top of her head, but said nothing else. I just swayed and listened to the song.

> _[The night is like a lovely tune  
>  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3cxAX-wR3w)Beware my foolish heart_  
>  _How wise the ever constant moon_  
>  _Take care my foolish heart_  
>  _There’s a line between love and fascination_  
>  _That’s hard to see on an evening such as this_  
>  _For they both give the very same sensation_  
>  _When you’re lost in the madness of a kiss_

I brought my arm up from her back, wrapping it around her shoulders. With the other, I held her hand in mine, pressed up to my chest. My touch was light, I thought, light enough that she didn’t back away from me or fidget. But when the song ended, she let go and returned to the booth.

Flora didn’t sit down, she merely picked up her bag and coat then waited for me to retrieve my own jacket. She handed our waitress a twenty as we left, waiting until we got outside to put on her coat.

“Flora, wait…” I ran to catch up to her as she walked briskly to the car.

She whirled around to look at me. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. “What did I do? I just danced with him!”

“I’m know but…”

“And then you have the nerve to just pull me onto the floor. Was that an apology? A fucking joke?”

“No, but…”

“Is this how you treat your friends? God! What an asshole you must be!”

“Flora, I…” I faltered.

“He asked me! You didn’t! You didn’t say anything!”

“I know, but…”

“I’m allowed to dance with whoever I want!”

“Flora, please.” I pleaded.

She shook her head. “If you wanted to dance, you should have asked me. Or somebody else.”

“But…”

“I would have done it, too. If you had asked.”

“I know…”

Flora looked up at the sky, her face contorted as she tried to regain her composure. “I wanted to. But I didn’t get to. Because the person I wanted to dance with… didn’t… he didn’t… you didn’t…”

Tears were coursing down her cheeks and her arms were folded in front of her, crossed at the wrists, like she was bracing herself. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she did.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m sorry you didn’t… you don’t… that I’m not…”

“Flora,” I whispered, taking a few careful steps until I was standing right in front of her.

“Why? It’s, like, I got up and then I come back and it’s like you hate me, or you don’t care.”

“But I did care! I was just upset.”

“Why? Why did you care? What did I do to upset you?” She closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip.

“Flora.” I reached for her, brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. She shook her head.

“It wasn’t anything you did. Or anything you are. It was me. I…”

“What?”

“I wished it was me. Me instead of him. Me dancing you around the floor.”

“Well, you didn’t so I guess that means—”

I didn’t let Flora finish.

I just took her in my arms and kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of their night together, Flora finally gets Tom's autograph.

_For we, when we feel, evaporate: oh, we_  
 _breathe ourselves out and away: from ember to ember,_  
 _yielding us fainter fragrance_  
(The Duino Elegies, Rilke)

* * *

 

I remember tears.

I remember so many tears that I could hardly see.

I remember heat.

I remember the feeling of my face and my neck and my chest on fire.

I remember light.

I remember the emerald of the neon sign of The Green Mill. The flashing white of passing cars. The amber of the street lamps as they cast a halo around Tom.

I remember him.

I remember him on screen, face white against black hair, blue eyes blazing against gray skies and blood red earth..

I remember him in the dim glow from that same screen, lips upturned in a shy smile as he held me in his arms.

His face when I came back from the ladies room at the Skylark. Welcoming.

His face when we put a drunk Steve in the back of a nice kid’s car. Amusement.

His face as he bit into my favorite sandwich under the marquee of the Uptown Theatre. Delight.

His face when another man took the dance that I had wished, had hoped, he would claim for himself. Shock.

His face when I returned from that same dance. Regret. Disappointment. Anger. Relief.

I wouldn’t look at him when he did finally take me out to dance. A consolation.

How dare he.

Fuck him.

Then we were on the street and it was cold _(so cold)_ and wet _(I could feel it in my bones)_ and I just wanted to get rid of him and go home but he kept begging and insisting and all I could do was cry and shout.

And then he kissed me.

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to kiss somebody? To kiss someone you dream about? To kiss someone who you had considered impossible? Would it be slow and gentle, or fast and hard? Would he taste like sugar, salt, or smoke? Where did your hands go? Did he cradle your head with one hand and press down on the small of your back with the other? If he happened to back you up against your battered station wagon, did you get up and sit on the hood? Did he gently roll his hips, and did you wrap your legs around him in reply?

Did you imagine that kissing this person would be everything you wished it would be?

I had dreamt about meeting Tom Hiddleston. I had dreamt about him laughing at my jokes. I had dreamt about him understanding me. I had dreamt about him liking me.

None of these wishes were granted.

Because it wasn’t Tom Hiddleston who kissed me.

It was Tom.

Tom kissed me.

Unlike the first time Tom held me, his grasp wasn’t soothing or comforting in any way. It was crowded and small, as if the world had collapsed all around us. One hand splayed on my lower back, the other cupping my cheek. He pushed me back slightly, then brought me back in. Just like on the dancefloor. Where the gentleman goes, the lady must follow.

His lips were firm as they pressed against mine. Because I had been yelling when he kissed me, I was out of breath. I gasped, then hiccuped, and when I did he kissed me again, this time taking the opportunity to slip his tongue between my lips. My mouth now open, we took a breath together and his tongue flicked at the inside of my lips before seeking mine. It was hot and somehow liquid and every time we breathed together I felt like I was drunk.

I was able to catch my breath when Tom’s kisses moved from my lips to my cheek, then along my jaw until they fluttered around the crook of my neck. My hands found their way to his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck. I held onto him there while he touched me.

Tom kissed and nipped and even sucked gently at the hollow of my throat while his hands slid down my sides, paused briefly to squeeze my hips, and then come to rest on my ass. When I thought he might bow slightly at the waist and move his hands to the hood to support himself, he instead pulled me forward. He slid his hands under my knees, lifting them so I could wrap my legs around his hips. Once secure, Tom slipped his hands to the small of my back, one on top of the other, and pressed down. Any space that might have existed between us before, no matter how infinitesimal, was gone.

I could feel him between my legs. He was hard, and I was so wet he had to have felt me. But he didn’t move. He didn’t have to. His desire was plain. As was mine.

I shivered, my teeth chattering slightly. Tom lifted his head so he could look at me. His eyes were big and they looked wet. He looked at me with a mix of desire, regret, and satisfaction, and I wondered, if he were to ask anything of me now, would I find the strength to say no.

“You’re a good kisser,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” I replied. I ran a finger over his lips, then tapped the bow of his mouth. “So are you.”

Tom closed his eyes and nuzzled my cheek. “They’re pretty thin, my lips. So I have to find ways of compensating.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It must have been difficult to overcome.”

“It was, yes.” Tom kissed me gently on the lips. “But somehow I prevailed.” He kissed me harder. “With lots and lots… of practice.”

I was going to laugh softly but instead I let him kiss me again. Tom stood up, moving to my side so he could sit against the car. He took me with him, waiting until I leaning on him, before he kissed me. He pressed his forehead to mine.

“Tell me something, Tom.”

“Of course, Flora.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Tom kissed my jaw before he whispered in my ear.

“I wanted to kiss you because I wanted you.”

“Why did you want me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

“What’s enough?”

“You’re sweet. You’re patient. You’re thoughtful. You’re funny. You’re romantic.” He kissed my earlobe. “You taste delicious. You’re adorable. You smell wonderful.”

“How did you know I was all of these things?”

“Several hours of observation from a close but respectful distance.”

“Again, I ask, why me?”

“You have your criteria for a man. I have my own criteria for a woman.”

“So that’s it? We match and that’s it? A foregone conclusion?”

“No.”

“So what then?”

“I suppose it means that you can now consider our friendship over.”

I turned my face to him so I could look in his eyes. He had the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say that our friendship is over?”

“Yes.” Tom tugged at the collar of my sweater so he could kiss my shoulder.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“I had rather hoped that you would agree to something else instead.”

“And what would that be?”

“Courtship. We see where this is goes. This could just be physical attraction, which you cannot deny exists between us. Or it could be deeper than that. Either way, I would prefer that we get to know each other in a manner conducive to romance.”

“Hmm.” I closed my eyes, then maneuvered so I could press my lips to his neck. “There are some questions to be resolved.”

“Of course.”

“The first being, you don’t live here.”

“There are airplanes.”

“You have an incredibly busy schedule in these coming months.”

“Phone calls. Long ones, possibly naughty, definitely sexy. Text messages, maybe less sexy but could be fun. Email. Video chats.”

“This is all sounding very impersonal.”

“Dates. Proper dates. As in, I turn up at your flat with flowers, which I give to you. You are wearing a dress that will make me wonder exactly when and how I might be able to entice you to take it off. We will go somewhere expensive for dinner, where I will try to impress you by ordering in French. Which will be awkward as I most likely would have taken you to an Italian restaurant.” He grinned when I snorted with laughter. “We get tipsy on champagne, then end the evening eating bacon egg and American cheese sandwiches on your couch.”

“That sounds very nice. But you do know that you’d have to be here for that?”

“Sure. Here, or I invite you to join me somewhere. Have you ever to been to Hawaii? Atlanta?”

“No, but…”

“I think you’ll like Hawaii and Atlanta. So yes to dates. Wherever and whenever we can find them.”

“And then what?”

“You accept me as your suitor, or we part as friends.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to be friends.”

“I will accept friendship if you cannot give me more.”

“Tom, seriously.” I looked at him and bit my lip. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know,” he nodded. “And I don’t want you to think that I think you’re a sure thing.”

“Okay.”

“What else? Your brow is furrowed, and you’re biting your lip. There’s something else going on, isn’t there?”

“Have you had, or do you have, other girls that you’ve courted or that you are currently courting?”

Tom’s eyes looked a little sad, and I felt bad for asking. “No. There haven’t been. Not like this. And there isn’t anybody now.”

“How did you feel when you saw me dancing with that guy?”

“I had never wished so desperately to be somebody else as I did about him at that very moment.”

“Was that a new experience for you? Wanting to be somebody else? Isn’t it pretty good to be Tom Hiddleston?”

“It’s a nice job if you can get it, as the song goes.” Tom ran his fingers over my lips. “Kiss me again.”

I reached out to touch his face, feeling the stubble as he leaned down to press his mouth to mine.

“Why now?”

“It feels right with you. I feel different.”

“How so?”

“Because when I’m with you, I’m just Tom. And you’re just Flora. And I like who I am when I am with you.”

I chuckled. “Same here.”

“So are we in agreement, Miss Amenecer?”

I peered up at him, then nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Where do I sign?”

“I thought we could kiss on it.”

“We could. And I suspect we will, considering we just made out on the hood of my car. But I want something tangible. Something real.”

Tom looked up for a moment, then smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Sharpie marker.

“Do you always have one on you? No rope line here.”

Tom shrugged. “Force of habit. Your hand, please.”

I held my left arm out so Tom could hold my hand. He turned my arm over, kissed the inside of my wrist then uncapped the marker. He looked at me and when I nodded, he carefully signed his name. When he was done, he blew on the ink to dry.

Even though I knew it was coming, I still felt myself blush when he handed the marker to me. I ran my thumb over the pulse point of his left wrist, then kissed it. I signed my name carefully, drawing the marker slowly until I finished with a little flourish. I capped the pen, then slipped it into Tom’s pocket. I looked up at him and returned his smile.

“Thank you, madam.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

* * *

The doormen at Tom’s hotel jumped to attention when we drove up at 3:00 in the morning. When they saw that he needed no assistance with his one bag, they tipped their caps before leaving us alone. Tom took my hand in his and kissed it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up?”

“Tom, I’ve never wanted to do something so badly in my life.”

“Oh fuck…” he whispered as I pulled him into me. One more kiss. One last kiss. Which is what I said about all the kissing we did on the car and all the making out inside the car once we remembered how cold we were.

“What time’s your first interview?”

“Erm…” Tom found his phone. “Oh. So many messages from Luke. Ah yes, diary says my first interview is at 7:00am.”

“You have to sleep. As do I.”

“We could sleep in the same bed.” Tom said hopefully.

“Is that all we would do?”

We laughed, and I kissed him again.

“Just go to bed. Think of me. When I go to bed, I will be thinking of you.”

“Is that all you’re going to do? Just think?” Tom nipped at my ear.

“No. There may be other things.” I kissed his cheek.

“‘Other things’? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“I guess so.” I pulled hard on his jacket and kissed him on the mouth when he leaned over, moaning as his tongue lapped slowly at mine. It was when he broke the kiss to whisper my name that I gave in completely to myself.

Taking his hand in mine, I slipped it under my sweater so he could touch me. As he loomed over me, his jacket falling open, a tiny part of my brain hoped that nobody could see us going at it while another, only slightly larger bit said “who cares” and “yes” and “more” and “now” and “he’s so hard” and “you’re so wet” and “oh my god”. The pads of his thumb and fingers were a little rough, so when he squeezed my breasts and brushed his fingers against my nipples, I gasped. That’s how good it felt. And I… I… I…

“Tom…”

“What? Flora, what is it?”

“Ask me. Ask me again.”

Tom pulled his head back and looked at me.

“Flora, would you like to come up to my room?”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slipped my hand in his.

“Yes.”


End file.
